I know, i didn't make an interest thread or anything, but suck my nuts. This is pretty much a response to Dyl's suggestion of a Skyrim RP - consider this it, if you want.

Joff wrote:The Province is a huge expanse of lush forests, dry deserts, towering mountain ranges, stormy coasts and vast plains. Many races inhabit the land, each keeping to the districts that best suit their needs. Some build huge cities that pierce the skies and span for miles, whilst others, small villages, kept the same for millennia. Some civilisations remain frozen in time, stuck in the old ways with their primitive religions and traditions. Some have expanded over the centuries, their technology evolving with them - and with that, war has evolved, too.

But I stray from my point and, of course, you already know all of this. The Red War, you know of it? Of course you do, everybody does. You don't need to be from here to know of it. Some may be hundreds of miles from the main battlefields but we've all been scorched by its flame. I've seen some factions use sorcery, but it's no secret that the forces of magic have returned to the Province. They use fire magic primarily, you see. The worst element of them all. Hardly anything that the war has ravaged remains. Only ashes and cinders and bits of what was, crumbling at the slightest touch. Some blame the magic. It's even outlawed in certain regions, punishable by death if seen using it, or even worshipping its Gods. I've heard of a few mercenary cults that are profiting from the Red War, but only rumours. I don't know your business here, traveller, but if otherworldly affairs are what intrigue you I advise you keep it to yourself.

But, that's enough from me, you must be thirsty. Hungry perhaps? All of our fish is caught fresh. What can I get for you?

And this is where you start the game - in The Wymingbrooke Inn. It is located roughly in the center of the Province, the world in which the game takes place. The prologue is delivered to you by the owner, Joff, who is the only NPC pre-created for the RPG. Your first post should be a reply to what Joff has said - imagine it like the start of Skyrim.

The world is free-to-create, and it's up to you where you go and what you do there. As a result, I recommend creating your character with an agenda in mind. It doesn't even have to be related to the Red War, so you have free reign to create what backstory you wish. if you're wondering about character race, again, think Skyrim. Feel free to have a cat-like character or an orc, or even just a made-up race of humans. Just remember two things: 1) The Red War is an ongoing war between factions that inhabit the Province, and can be battling anywhere, and 2) magic is generally feared/frowned upon and punishable by death in some regions, and has been gone for many years, so if your character uses magic, bare this in mind.

Race: Leonian - In a sense the same as a Khajiit only with the appearance and features of a lion, such as the males having large manes of hair, a little tuft of hair on the ends of their tails, and having digitigrade legs, meaning they walk on their toes and their feet and ankles are bent outwards giving them a bent leg, compared to the straightened plantigrade legs humans and khajiit have.

Hair: A large auburn red mane that reaches down to his lower back when not tied up. Damta keeps his hair wild and bushy to his shoulders, then in a ponytail from there.

Face: the face of a lion, half a head bigger than a humans with a wide boxy muzzle the fur white around the nose and mouth and on the chin; the rest of his short velvety fur is a tawny brown. He had golden brown cat eyes, the pupils change size in certain lights and a pair of ears on the top of his head sticking from his hair. His muzzle is crisscrossed by dozens of small pale scars.

Build: 6'5, lean and muscular.

Attire: Damta wears four layers of clothing and armor: his clothes, his soft armor, his inner hard armor, and his outer hard armor. For clothes, he wears a simple blue tunic and brown leather pants. For colder climes, he will add a travelers or winter cloak to keep warm. His soft armor is simply a white gambeson tunic. The inner layer of hard armor is a tunic that reaches his knees with a pair of gloves and socks that cover his legs and the top of his feet, all made of mail. The outer layer of armor is made up of a segmented chest piece with a skirt to his knees, a pair of pauldrons that allow him to lift his hands above his head, gauntlets, legs and boots that again cover the top of his feet.

Weapons: Damta carries an arming sword and a shield and a set of three tanto daggers. Damta also carries with him a long bow and quiver capable of holding up to 120 arrows, usually with heads made of steel. However, he has been known to drop the bow when enemies draw closer and sometimes not find it again.

Powers: Besides his racial night vision, strength, agility, and stealth when not wearing his heavy armor Damta is a practitioner of healing magic, as well as knowing a few lower-strength fire spells. He mostly uses the fire spells for lighting campfires and torches, or as a last resort.

Bio: Damta was born in one of the western regions of Province as part of a pride of Leonian's in service to a local lord. Unlike other regions, his people, and all others for that matter were treated with respect and compassion. Everyone was judged by their skill and merit, not by race, religion, skin or social hierarchy, although one did exist. In this Damta grew up with a respect for all people, a strong sense of right and wrong and a fire to protect it. After all the Red War was raging.

Damta applied for and was accepted into the local Lords combat academy starting as a page, learning the laws of chivalry and combat. Within 10 years Damta had earned his right to be knighted and serve his local lord in the defense and care for his home. He became well-known as a fierce but kind knight, always kind, even to his enemies, but patient, calm and willing to help anyone out either physically or mentally.

This all changed however as the Red War came closer to his home, and finally to the region itself. The town held several alliances with neighboring towns, none of which really held the same compassion and kindness to all Damta's lord did, The other lords considered him weak and mentally unwell, even trying to lay claim to his territory by issuing that he was mad. All were driven off, however. Until one night a local lord came to the town, not in war, but penance. He wanted to apologize, and so Damta's lord welcomed him in with a feast, saying all was forgiven. Damta, as a bodyguard and even an advisor to his lord, was at the feast and was asked to pour a drink for the two lords. After a speech, his lord drained his cup and fell down dead, poisoned. The other lord immediately blamed Damta and tried to have him arrested. All the guards hesitated, unsure and unwilling to believe that Damta would kill his lord. So the other lord called in his bodyguards to arrest Damta and knowing that they would kill him without question, Damta fled his home to the wilds.

With his master, dead Damta traveled the land, a wandering knight without a lord. His travels through the land, seeing the racism and treatment he and others received hardened him; still kind and caring, Damta now did not talk, or not as much, and simply dealt with threats or injustice with his sword rather than with words.

Extra notes: (This is mostly just for me to remember stuff. And I will add to it as idea's and such come up.)

Damta is skilled in two different types of martial arts.Heihuquan, or Tiger Kung Fu, used mostly when out of his armourZui Quan, or drunken fist, for when he's drunk.

Despite this mask of happiness I drown in dark despair.The world may be your canvas but what you paint on it beware.The pen is mightier than the sword. It has no limitations.Imagination has cursed us all with life.

Name: Dyris BrookeRace: Caucan (very pale humans, much like those of Sweden or Scandinavia)Hair: Brown, shoulder-length, usually tied back.Face: Pale, slight, large brow. Brown eyes and a large brow. Normal-lookingBuild: 5'9, broad shoulders, strong legs.Attire: Weapons: Primary: Secondary: Bow and arrowPowers: Dyris possesses no magic, but his bow (unbeknownst to him) is enchanted with unknown powers. The bow has been known to cast random effects on the individuals its arrows hit, such as burning or explosive properties.Bio: Dyris hails from the Western corners of the Province, from a small farming village known as Thillsborough. His story is less epic than most, however, as Dyris did not train in combat until he was 18. Until then, however, he was a regular farmer boy.Dyris dabbled in many things, from painting to archery, but could never lend the focus required for mastery due to his busy, but simple life. His life as a farmer lent him two things: patience, and physical strength. It was these attributes that would help him in future.At 18, during a trading trip with his father to the local town, Thorncastle, Dyris met a strange Leonian named Bahn the Supplier. Bahn offered Dyris' father with the task of taking a certain message to another town, at least a two day's trek South from Thorncastle. Due to his age, and also the ever-growing danger of the Red War (which was now growing in the South), Dyris' father declined. But Bahn was persistent, insisting that the message was of great importance and that to deliver it would grant high rewards - money, mostly. Out of his place, Dyris accepted the task, explaining to his father that he was young and able, and that any money would benefit the farm greatly. Eventually, Dyris' father begrudgingly allowed the journey, and Dyris was given a small envelope and a location.Dyris returned after three days, cutting his journey almost in half, and almost dissappointed with the easiness of the journey. When he had returned, the reward had already been received by Dyris' father, which included a beautiful bow amidst a fat sack of coins. The farm prospered since.

It would be two more years before Bahn would return, this time in Dyris' home village of Thillsborough. This time, he wished to see Dyris personally. His first question was if Dyris had read the message. "No." he replied, honest but wiser now "That wasn't my job." Bahn seemed pleased, but more relieved than anything, and then offered Dyris yet another job, this time as a permanent role.Bored of his current environment, Dyris accepted with the blessing of an understanding father, and set off with Bahn to elsewhere.

Now, Dyris works under a contract to Bahn the Supplier as a Bringer, a deliverer of highly sensitive materials, and has done for 7 years. But to this day, Bahn still remains an elusive figure, and only contacts Dyris via other Bringers as to where the package is and where it is going. In fact, Dyris hasn't seen Bahn since he was visited by the Leonian 7 years ago.

Currently, Dyris is delivering a message to a town called Ravenwell, in the North-East corners of the Province.

Race: Yardkvak- A humanoid race of coastal and oceangoing raiders and conquerors, similar to the vikings. The people are in a constant state of war with either outside forces or one another. For this reason, they usually live in Swarms, or tribes as others would refer to them, and worship their sole deity, The Queen of Blades. They're similar to humans in terms of body proportion and anatomy, though they tend to be taller and bigger than humans. Their skin is usually a grayish green and resistant to temperature changes. They cannot freeze or burn to death, which aided them greatly since their race sticks typically to the north where ice and snow is prevalent on the landscape.

Hair: Long gray-blonde hair hangs in thick, messy braids framing Hargis' face, reaching down to his shoulders. The braids are decorated with fragments of bone woven into the hair, typically teeth and finger bones of particularly fearsome fallen enemies. Honoring their courage and strength in death through allowing their essence to fight with you in the realm of the living.

Build: Around seven feet tall with thick arms and legs and a strong chest, toned from years of hauling weapons and lines aboard ships his entire life.

Attire: He wears a thin, black leather vest over which he has a thicker, fur trimmed leather cloak and chaps in a similar style. Heavy boots adorn his feet, the soles made of wood and have small metal spikes protruding from them to help with gripping. He has a pair of, you guessed it, leather gloves and several expensive looking rings he likes to wear on a necklace.

Weapons: A pair of what would normally be considered "two-handed" steel battleaxes.

Powers: N/A

Bio: Hargis grew up the son of the Jarl, Brul Grulsson, who ruled over his Swarm with an iron fist. From and early age, he worked aboard the most infamous of all Yardkvak ships, Red Tide. Being the son of the Jarl, he was given the most difficult, disgusting, and punishing jobs available. He cleaned the heads, climbed the mast during the gale, was first ashore during raids, swam to the ocean floor to release a stuck anchor, and it went on for the majority of his young life. What resulted was a brutal warmaster and captain. Upon returning to his home after his fifteen years at sea, he was hailed as a champion of the Swarm, his tales of bravery, cunning, and ferocity having preceded him. In fact, he was respected on a level his father had never reached, being the Jarl from a young age, he'd never been able to go out and experience the kind of trials Hargis was put through. His jealousy and resentment toward his first son grew over the next few years as he lead raid after raid, bringing the Swarm glory and riches beyond those anyone had previously brought. Hargis took for himself a beautiful mate and captained the Maelstrom, a ship he and his crew built themselves. It was then that Brul had had enough, and spoke out against his son. He claimed him to be an honor-less swine and ordered his immediate exile. He sent men to burn Hargis' ship prior to the order, and had his crew executed, his mate imprisoned, and told his son that they had all spoken against him, providing the basis for his exile. Scorned and distraught, Hargis was set afloat in a small rig with no food or water, no weapons or clothes; bound to the mast so he could watch as the small craft filled with water and sank to his watery grave. Fate, however, was not yet done with Hargis, and by freak accident, a meteor of white fire arced through the distant sky, splitting the stars in twain, parting the clouds and streaking down to the ocean's surface where Hargis stood in silent abandon in his half submerged boat. The collision shattered the craft, splintering the mast and plunging Hargis, now freed, into the black waters. With renewed vigor, Hargis swam. And he swam, and swam. In the direction he hoped and prayed to his Queen was land. As the sun rose, so with it appeared a sliver on the horizon. The coast of a land Hargis did not recognize. Upon landing on the cold beach, he encountered a fisherman and his son, both human and pale as the bleached rocks along the coast. Exhausted from his swim, he collapsed into the stones, only awaking a time later in the shack the fisherman shared with his wife, sons and daughters.

"And so the Queen bid the Swarm, those who could take from you life but do not, those who choose to pull you from the surf when your death would leave them no strife, are to be honored as family. For to save life without personal gain is the most honorable of acts and to be respected above all else,"

Hargis quoted the commandment of the Queen of Blades in his mind, one of many, and started his new life. He worked with the fisherman, Graves, and his kin for almost a year, assisting them in their efforts. With the same vigor he'd always displayed, Hargis sought to repay the kindness showed to him when they took him in. It was after this year that a band of soldiers came to them, seeking shelter and warmth. Recently having fought a battle nearby and lost rather horribly, they sought refuge. Being the kind and gentle fisherman he was, Graves welcomed them and fed them. Since with Hargis' assistance they'd pulled a huge stock of fish he felt no loss from aiding the men. It was on their second day there that one of the men attempted to take one of Graves' daughters by force. Her father, however, saw what was happening and rushed over to stop the soldier. Hargis heard the commotion from the coast and rushed up to see what was happening, just as the soldier drew his blade and struck down the fisherman.

"With family, as with the fearsome hydra, when one head feels pain, all of the heads experience it in kind,"

Enraged, Hargis tore the head from the soldier with his bare hands and hurled it into the sea. By this time, the rest of the soldiers had arrived and assaulted Hargis. Shrugging off their blows as if they struck with pillows, Hargis laid into them, tearing them limb from limb like the raider he was.

"Should a head of the hydra be wounded, the assailant must be destroyed for fear of continued assault. But as you are a head of a hydra, so were they. The remaining heads must be slain or the risk of retaliation will be carried through the rest of your life and the lives of your family for eternity,"

With boiling blood, Hargis set out with his family, now the patriarch, to bring his wrath to bare. All he knew was that they wore a crest, a red shield with crossed blades. And so his mission was born, destroy the men of the Red Crest Swarm so that his family may know peace.